


Couldn't Keep It In

by WhatEvenAmI



Series: No-Shame November [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bed-Wetting, Blushing, Coming In Pants, Cuddling & Snuggling, Desperation, Diapers, Embarrassment, Gentle Domming, Hurt/Comfort, Light BDSM, M/M, No-Shame November, Omorashi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Praise Kink, Shame, Wetting, shameboners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-08-31 11:04:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8575873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhatEvenAmI/pseuds/WhatEvenAmI
Summary: Sam leaned forward to take Bucky's hand. "I care about you. Nothing could make me stop caring. I'm not gonna judge you, all right? Can you let me prove that to you?"





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [OMOWatcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OMOWatcher/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Find My Sweet Release](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8459554) by [Lauralot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot). 



> I titled this fic after Frozen's "Let it Go". That one pretty much seemed to write itself. It's based on Lauralot's Sweet Release verse, which you should definitely read if you haven't already.

Bucky should never have agreed to this.

It had seemed like such a good idea when Sam suggested it. An exercise of trust, to prove to him once and for all that he'll accept Bucky when he knows everything, even when he's seen it all with his own eyes. Bucky brought to his lowest and most debased state and still loved—loved all the more for it.

It had worked when Steve did it. That's what really made Bucky believe Steve wanted him. When he truly understood he never had to try to be the way he was before—strong and buoyant and whole. Steve still loves him broken and quivering and needy, will hold him up when he's at his breaking point, will shape his tractable form into something good and worthy and human. Because Bucky doesn't know how to do that himself, but he can put it in Steve's hands and Steve  _wants_ to hold him.

But this is a new and vast step into unknown territory. Steve is Steve, the one absolute in Bucky's life. But Sam...

Steve trusts Sam, and Bucky trusts Steve, and he actually really likes Sam in spite of himself. When Sam suggested this last week, Bucky wanted so badly to believe it when he said, "I care about you. Nothing could make me stop caring. I'm not gonna judge you, all right? Can you let me prove that to you?"

And Bucky had been filled with a warm glow, and so he'd ducked his head and nodded and felt like, okay, maybe this could be all right.

But that was while they were all fully clothed in the kitchen, planning for some unspecified time in the future. Now Bucky's naked and scared in the bedroom, with Sam waiting just outside the door.

He realizes he's started trembling when Steve steadies him with a hand on his waist. "You doing all right, Buck?"

"Yeah," Bucky mutters. He's not sure, really, but Steve and Sam want him to be all right, and Bucky wants to be good for them. He wants to do what they say, always, and if this is what makes them happy then he  _wants_ to do it.

It's just. He's not really sure he  _can._

Steve pats his arm. "Remember, you're allowed to use your safeword," he says, like he's reading Bucky's mind, "The minute you start feeling bad about this, you just say the word. Because that's how we take care of you, Bucky. We want you to help us take care of you, and that means you don't force yourself to do things just because _we_ said we wanted it. I need you to promise you'll safeword out if you feel bad, okay?"

Bucky nods. "Promise," he says. He's never used his safeword, but before now, he's never really felt like he might have to.

"Good. That's my good boy," Steve murmurs, "Now let's get you into a diaper."

Bucky can't help feeling self-conscious, even though Sam's seen him diapered before. There's a difference between sleeping in them and wearing them during the day, though, and he always feels so self conscious when he moves, certain that anyone could see it through his jeans or hear it when he moves. He's been thinking about wearing one outside and holding somewhere public, a thought that feels so tantalizingly daring. His heart pounds with anxiety every time he thinks about actually doing it, so he's not sure he'll ever work up the nerve, especially since he's nervous at the thought of even doing _this_.

Steve slides a diaper up his legs and secures it around his hips. "Perfect," he says, patting Bucky's padded ass, and Bucky glows from the praise. For a minute, he almost forgets that Sam's waiting for them just outside the door. Steve, thankfully, asked him to give them a moment alone, just to get Bucky ready. Before he even told Bucky to take off his clothes he was hugging him tight and whispering about how everything will be all right and Sam is good and no matter what happens Steve always loves him.

Bucky knows that, logically. Sam's been there for him through countless nightmares and panic attacks. Sam's understood why Bucky spends whole days in the apartment because he's too anxious to go outside, has told him he's not weak for needing some extra help to get through the day, for being scared. He understood back when Bucky hid in the bedroom during his early visits.

He'd known, then, that Steve really, really wanted him to meet Sam. He just _couldn't_.

It would have been the same for anyone Steve invited over. The apartment was Bucky's safe space and he didn't want it violated. No observing eyes, no judging voices. But Steve had sounded so hesitant, so anxious when he'd asked Bucky over breakfast one morning, "Do you remember how I told you about my friend Sam?"

Sam, who was Steve's  _other_ best friend. Sam, who Steve clearly admired. Sam, who'd helped Steve to stop Bucky from causing a world takeover, who Bucky had tried to kill.

But Bucky never wanted to say no to Steve, and his eyes were pleading and Bucky just _knew_  what he was going to ask. Just for a few hours, just for ten minutes, even. And Bucky had already made Steve look so  _tired_ so many times already. He couldn't bring himself to say Sam couldn't come. Not out loud. He hadn't been able to muster a very enthusiastic 'yes', but he'd given a nod and an 'okay,' and Steve had beamed and told him how brave he was.

Bucky was half-pained and half-glad he'd agreed when he heard Steve laughing with Sam in the front hall, loud and carefree. But he didn't want to be selfish when Steve had done so much for him. He hated feeling like a burden, like he was holding Steve back from having a normal adult life because he had to look after his fucked-up, broken soldier all the time. Who was he, even, to tell Steve who he could and couldn't have in his own apartment? Steve had taken him in, after all. It wasn't like Bucky paid rent. You didn't earn money by hiding under your covers and pissing your pants every day.

Steve didn't try to make Bucky come out, even though Bucky could just  _tell_ how much he wanted him to meet Sam, to talk to him, to  _like_ him. And it made sense, but Bucky didn't  _want_ to talk to anyone, he wasn't  _ready._ It was  _different_ with Steve than with other people. He didn't _want_ to meet the man who was Steve's best friend while he was gone. Who wasn't fucked-up and who knew how to be an actual friend and a human being.

Bucky said as much to his therapist after the first few times Sam had come over. He'd hidden in the bedroom, listening to the two of them laughing, stroking the fur of the pink dolphin Steve had given him as a present to help him calm down after nightmares. It was a huge, ridiculous thing, a child's toy, and maybe that was the point. It sharply contrasted with the nature of his dreams and brought him back to reality, to the present and to Steve.

Steve hadn't bought  _Sam_ a dolphin. But then, _Sam_ probably didn't _need_ toys, or diapers, or someone to tell him how to function throughout the day.

"Tell Steve how you feel," Emily, his therapist, had urged him, after he'd said that exact thing. He was painfully aware of how sulky and childish he sounded. Emily's voice wasn't judgmental, though. It never was. It stayed calm and pleasantly flat, free of any reaction that Bucky's mind could take and overthink and turn into something shameful. "At least, that's my advice. I think it's unwise to let resentment fester between you."

She told him that he didn't need to be Sam, just like Sam could never replace him, they were two different people and that was okay and Steve could like them both. And so Bucky did talk to Steve, and Steve hugged him and kissed him and reassured him that no one could ever be another Bucky. He'd started kissing more deeply, to prove it, and then he proved it with his hands and his mouth, and the next time Sam visited, Bucky hesitantly came out of the bedroom.

And Steve was so _proud_. Bucky hadn't managed to interact with people at all at that point, except for Emily. And there were the doctors who tested him at the hospital shortly after he came in from the cold, but he'd held tightly to Steve like his life depended on it for that. Which is pretty much what he did the first time he met Sam.

He was grateful that Sam didn't act like it was at all pathetic that Bucky had hid in the bedroom on his first three visits, or that he needed to hold onto his boyfriend to leave his room and talk to people. He aimed a few questions at Bucky, Bucky answered by nodding or shaking his head, and Sam mostly left him alone. The humiliation had been worth it when Steve bought him a soft new sweater and told him he'd done so well, he was so wonderful and Steve loved him so, so much.

After that, Bucky had cautiously begun talking more with Sam, and Emily had turned out to be right. Steve didn't push Bucky to be more like Sam, and Sam asked lots of questions about what Bucky wanted for himself. Sometimes Bucky didn't know how to answer them, and Sam never seemed to mind that. He just casually changed the subject before Bucky could work himself into a panic or come out with a defensive outburst. He was doing better about that, too, but a couple times it still happened when he'd just felt too pathetic for not knowing how to be a person and irrationally angry with Sam for bringing attention to his inadequacy. He _was_ aware of his own brokenness, thank you very much. He didn't need yet  _another_ reminder added to that. 

Steve always made him apologize when he lashed out, and Sam accepted his apologies with his easygoing grace, even the first time when Bucky was convinced he'd fucked up irreparably and had an awful panic attack. He'd yelled at someone that Steve held dear and that, he knew, was unacceptable and he could never redeem himself and he always ruined everything for Steve and he spent twenty minutes sobbing and hugging onto Steve's arm before he managed to calm down and apologize. But Sam seemed to accept that as an occurrence of daily life. Which, given his job, actually seemed fairly likely once Bucky though about it.

He later found out that Sam himself had had his share of anger and sleepless nights and self-blame. That he'd watched a friend die right in front of him. That he knew all the best crisis prevention hotlines because, years ago, he'd spent every night dialing them or another. So after a particularly bad panic attack, when Sam told him not to be embarrassed and he understood, Bucky could actually believe him. Gradually, he'd begun to open up and let Sam be his friend.

And so, after a particularly rough night, Bucky had felt brave enough to suggest to Steve that maybe Sam could come over and give him some advice. Steve had beamed brightly enough to outshine the sun and told Bucky how proud he was. That there was definitely going to be a reward for this step forward.

When Sam got there, he sat Bucky on the couch and tried lead him through grounding breaths, which didn't really help. He asked Bucky if he wanted to talk, but he didn't really feel up to reliving his nightmare. So Sam had taken his phone and pulled up a video of a man droning on about calming things, like taking long walks out in nature and sitting by the ocean. "I know, I know," Sam had said at the look on Bucky's face, "But I promise, it works every time."

And it _had_ worked. So well that Bucky, exhausted from the night before, had drifted off to sleep on the couch. And when he woke up, it was from a nightmare, shaking and yelling, and his pants were wet. And Sam was there, shaking his shoulder, Sam could  _see,_ and Bucky's heart slammed into his ribs. 

He didn't mean to shove Sam over, he just wanted to escape, to hide. He'd huddled in the closet, trembling, and Steve wouldn't be proud of him at all because he'd knocked Sam down and screwed up everything and he'd never be able to hide this from anyone, they'd all find out sooner or later.

Then Steve was there, and his hands were soft and gentle as he guided Bucky out of the closet. Of course he wasn't angry. He never was. But Bucky still couldn't convince himself, sometimes, that Steve wouldn't look at him like he was a disappointment with every new fuckup and failure. He couldn't stop whispering that he was sorry, even if Steve promised there was nothing to be sorry for.

"Sam works with people who have trauma, Bucky," Steve reminded him, helping him into a clean pair of pants, "He's seen people go through all kinds of things. He understands. He's not gonna judge you, I promise. He knows how bad the nightmares can be. You were scared, he gets it."

And he had, even though it'd been the hardest thing in the world to leave the bedroom and face him again. He'd been there the whole time, cleaning Bucky's mess off the couch, and he must have heard Steve soothing him and wiping him up and he  _knew._ That need for Steve to care for him and guide him and direct him was one of his most intimate and embarrassing secrets, and Sam had heard the whole thing.

But Steve had told him to sit and he did, on the floor, avoiding the couch where he pissed. They'd sat on either side of him, Sam's hand on his shoulder and Steve rubbing his back. They promised him it was okay, that whatever helped him be healthy and well was a good thing. Lots of people needed help when they were traumatized and some of them wet the bed, he wasn't pathetic, wasn't disgusting, wasn't alone.

He'd broken down and cried and they'd passed him tissues and made him say "It's not my fault," and he'd finally managed to say it and then he cried some more. They held him and told him he'd done so well, and it wasn't his fault, and he was allowed to cry and mess up and recover in whatever way felt right to him.

And that was it. From then on, Sam was officially one of Bucky's few safe people, and Steve taught him how to order Bucky around, how to tell when Bucky needed it. How to give him praise and affection and little rewards that made him blush and try not to smile. 

Bucky's not sure exactly when Sam became a part of their relationship, officially, but it was probably around the time when Sam figured out that little kisses worked really well as rewards, and that deep, soft, slow kisses made him _melt._

At some point he started spending the night, not always for sex, but just to be close to both of them. When Bucky woke up wet, Sam always turned away in the bed to give Bucky and Steve some privacy, but he still had to know Steve was helping Bucky change. He never commented, though, just pulled Bucky closer when he was done and handed him his dolphin. Bucky would curl around it and they'd curl around him, stroking him in the darkness and exchanging kisses above his head. Occasionally a kiss would drop onto his forehead or his ear and they'd whisper that they loved him.

They told him about their private little holding games early on, although Bucky would have put that off until some undetermined point way in the future. But as Steve pointed out, Sam could hardly keep from noticing there was a closeness between the two of them that he wasn't a part of, and he didn't want Sam to feel like they were keeping something from him. He already knew Steve ordered Bucky around to help him function. He even knew Steve changed Bucky's diapers, but that was at night when Bucky couldn't help it. It was different, bringing himself to that place on purpose.

Bucky had let Steve do all the talking, clinging to his hand, red-faced and wishing he could be anywhere else. Logic be damned, he couldn't quite convince himself that Sam wasn't going to tell him he was filthy and sick for doing what he did, and pathetic for needing it. Bucky's only consolation was that Steve had admitted he was a little nervous about the very same thing. But Sam had to be told, there wasn't any way around that. He wouldn't have to become part of it, Steve promised, but he they had to explain it so that the relationship could start with everyone trusting one another. And even if Sam didn't like it, Steve reasoned, they'd explain that it helped Bucky cope. Sam would understand all about unconventional coping mechanisms.

Bucky had nodded and agreed, and Steve had hugged him close and promised that no matter what, he'd love Bucky forever and stand by him no matter what. And that made it easier to face Sam the next day, and Sam took it calmly and reasonably, even if he'd had a lot of questions. They'd been able to talk openly about it, and Bucky fidgeted the whole way through that conversation. Tactfully, Sam had let Bucky stare at his lap and had been careful to make sure they both knew he wasn't judging them, that he just wanted to understand.

The only question he'd had for Bucky was, "So if it's how you cope, then what exactly does this do for you? I mean, if that's something Steve likes to watch..." Steve had blushed deeply, and Sam had plowed on, "I mean, it just surprises me that you'd be up for something like that. I know you hate wetting the bed, so I wouldn't think you'd want to go through it during the day."

Bucky had squeezed his arms around himself, wishing he had his dolphin. He'd left it on the bed, aware of how ridiculous he looked cuddling the thing and wanting to be taken at least semi-seriously for this. Now he wanted to hold the toy and hide behind it and never have to face anyone again. "I like...Steve taking care of me. Like it a lot," he admitted.

"Yeah, okay, I get that."

Bucky hadn't wanted to explain any further, but somehow he had, as if knowing the whole story would make Sam think he was any less of a pervert. "I just—it feels bad and Steve is there. I'm at my lowest and he still—he loves me. He  _wants_ me. He tells me to do things that HYDRA, um—that they tortured me for. Or laughed at me. But Steve doesn't laugh and he loves me and he tells me I'm _good_. And he just—and I don't have to—he just takes care of everything—" Bucky broke off abruptly as the emotional overload crept up on him, the same feeling he had whenever he was wetting his diaper and he was scared and Steve was holding him and promising him he was okay. He flushed deeper than he'd thought possible, as if Sam had watched it happen right then and there. Without thinking, he flung himself into Steve's arms and clung tight.

That had been the end of the questions. Both Steve and Sam had comforted him, and Sam promised he understood, and he didn't think it was wrong at all, and he was glad Bucky had someone like Steve to take care of him. He said he loved both Bucky and Steve and he wanted them to be happy. If they'd found a way to cope that worked for both of them, then he fully supported that. And he'd kissed first Bucky's forehead, and then Steve's. 

After that, things had pretty much gone on as normal. Bucky had to admit, he felt relieved, knowing he didn't have to hide anything from Sam, who had come to mean more and more to him each passing day. He couldn't even be too resentful toward him anymore; the guy was just too damn likable. He was also deeply  _good_ person, in the same way that Steve was, and Bucky continually found himself stunned that two such people had chosen to love him. To center huge parts of their lives around him. It made him feel  _good,_ to be loved by people like Steve Rogers and Sam WIlson.

And then, out of the blue, Sam had said he'd wanted to watch Steve make Bucky wet himself.

They'd been making breakfast together, and Bucky had frozen up so quickly that Steve had hastily moved him away from the stove. "Only if Bucky's okay with it," he'd said firmly, before he'd even asked why.

"Of course," Sam confirmed, moving to take Bucky's place, "And we can wait on it, too, if that would help."

"All right," Steve had said evenly, rubbing Bucky's arm, "So is it something you think you might be _into_ , or..."

"It's not just about that," Sam began sliding eggs onto their plates, "it's just that you two have this deep connection thing going on between you. And I don't want to force my way into that if you want to keep it something between you, but guys...I get nervous too. I can't help feeling like I'm getting left behind. I know you guys had each other first, and I don't wanna be too neurotic, but—I'm just saying, it does creep into my mind sometimes."

Bucky was astonished. Of the three of them, he was the only one who couldn't function on his own, who couldn't always pull his own weight. He was always the one being helped and supported, and he kept getting scared that the other two would eventually get sick of it. It had never occurred to him that Sam might feel insecure about his place in the relationship, which, in retrospect, was probably pretty stupid. Sam had plenty of his own trauma, after all. 

"Sam, I'm sorry," Steve had said instantly, "We never meant to make you feel like we'd ever leave you behind. We love you."

"Thanks, Steve," Sam squeezed his arm, "but it's not just that. I want to help—both of you, but Bucky especially." Bucky had forced himself to look up from the floor and meet Sam's gaze. "I love you, man. You know that, right? Because I want you to feel safe with me, I want you to feel safe in your own home. And if you don't want to open up to me just yet, that's fine, but you don't have to hide every time Steve changes you at night. I understand. You had a nightmare, you lost control. It happens." Bucky blushed, and Sam leaned over to squeeze his knee. "And I really want to be part of helping you when you're down. But I can't do that if you feel like you need to hide that from me, and I think I need to see it to understand better. I'm not going to turn on you, I'm not going to be disgusted with any part of you." Sam leaned forward to take Bucky's hand. "I care about you. Nothing could make me stop caring. I'm not gonna judge you, all right? Can you let me prove that to you?"

Bucky had felt a warm rush of emotion. Sam had just trusted him with his own vulnerabilities, and now he wanted to help Bucky trust him back. And right then, Bucky wanted that too, more than anything. Tears welling in his eyes, he'd nodded, feeling safer and braver than he had since they'd first told Sam about their games.

But that was before, when he wasn't immediately facing the prospect of actually doing it. Now Bucky's nervous and shaking and biting on his fingers, and only Steve's guiding hands have kept his body moving.

Once Steve's expressed his full satisfaction with the positioning of the diaper (a process Bucky's certain Steve draws out just to tease him), he goes to get some pants out of the drawer, but Steve puts a hand on his arm, halting him. "Not this time, Bucky."

Bucky stills, but it's hard to obey the command. He wants to be covered, wants to hide the immediate evidence of his brokenness as soon as he can. Steve's really not going to make him do what Bucky thinks he's getting at, is he?

"Steve..." he whispers.

 Steve runs his hand up and down Bucky's arm. "Do you trust me?" he asks.

Bucky feels like his whole body must be flushed with heat. He's clinging to Steve to stay upright, but he nods. He does trust Steve, and he wants to be good, and he'll let Steve lead him through anything even if his stomach is squirming with nerves.

"All right. Then we're going to do it like this. And Sam is going to see everything, and Bucky, he will still love both of us so, so much. I really do believe him when he says that, Bucky. I trust him. You know I wouldn't put you through this with someone I didn't trust one hundred percent."

Bucky nods, his tremors easing slightly. Steve trusts Sam, and Bucky trusts Steve.

"All right. So he's going to see us exactly as we are. We're going in all-exposed, no hiding, and then he and I will both take care of you. And you know what I think, Bucky?" Steve tilts his chin up so that they're face-to-face, just inches apart. "I know you're nervous, but I think you like that idea."

Bucky squirms, blushing. He's not sure if he likes it, except all week he's been imagining Sam's steady, empathetic gaze holding his as he cries and loses control, and the thought arouses equal rushes of shame and warmth. So maybe. Maybe, _maybe_ he kind of loves it.

Steve kisses his nose, and Bucky blinks in irritation. "Remember," he whispers, "you're safe with us. So if you  _stop_ liking it, I promise you can safeword out. That's what we want you to do, if you feel bad. We just want to take good care of you." He pulls Bucky close so that they're skin-to-skin, enfolding Bucky in his warmth and comfort. Bucky can only nod against his shoulder, feeling all the more strongly his own pounding heartbeat against Steve's chest.

"Okay?" Steve whispers, and Bucky nods again. "Then let's go."

Bucky shuffles to the door, guided by Steve's hand on his back, but he can't quite make himself open it. It doesn't matter with Steve. Steve's seen him in a far more pathetic state than this and never uttered a word of judgment, his presence steady and warm and comforting. And not that Sam hasn't been just as wonderful, but it's hitting Bucky now just how new their relationship still is. He feels highly vulnerable and exposed, and when Steve eases the door open he grips at the front of the diaper, instinctively trying to cover himself.

Sam's eyes calmly take him in, and that makes it easier for Bucky to step into the living room. The curtains are drawn against the neighbors, and there's a layer of towels draped over the seat of the couch. It's just the three of them, and it's safe, and it's okay if Steve says it is, but—they're really going to do this, and Bucky's heart constricts. He keeps his eyes on the towels, knowing all the while that Sam's watching. Steve strokes his hand up and down Bucky's back, gently steering him over to the couch. He sits down on the towels and pulls Bucky down onto his lap, so that Bucky is directly facing Sam.

It's hard to look into his eyes, even when Sam looks back calmly, waiting. Can he really go through with this? Can he let Sam watch him lose control and beg and whine and piss himself— 

Steve must feel his heartbeat picking up, because he wraps his arms around Bucky's body, running his hands over Bucky's stomach and chest. "Sam, could you go get a glass of water, please?"

While Sam's up, Steve slides a hand up Bucky's chest and tilts his head back, lips grazing his ear. "It's okay, Bucky," he breathes, "It'll be okay. You're safe here. It's just me and Sam, we'll take good care of you and you'll be so safe, I promise."

Bucky nods fractionally, trying to believe it. Trying to get into the ease of mind he has when it's just Steve and he can release all control with the rush and the fear but ultimately knowing Steve will bring him back down and hold him close and never, ever judge him for getting so close to that edge, for his wild, uncontrollable release.

"Remember your safeword?" Steve whispers, and Bucky nods again. "Good, Bucky. If you need to use it, you can. You're doing so great for me, okay?"

Bucky relaxes minimally. He's  _good._ No matter what, Steve thinks he's doing good.

Then Sam's back and Bucky tenses. A glass of water is held up to his mouth, and Steve tells him to drink so he does, the relief of obedience drowning out all else and making him crave that second glass. As long as he can keep swallowing he's doing as he's told.

The relief lasts until halfway down the third glass. He's feeling cold and full, and still there's more water held to his lips. He's slowing down now, goosebumps pricking up all over his naked body. He can feel the water starting to run through him. He clamps his legs on Steve's thigh in anticipation, squirming. Then he blushes, remembering that Sam can see.

"Almost done, Buck," Steve murmurs, "Drink a bit more, okay? You can relax, you can just let go if it hurts."

He can't. He never can, instinct making him clamp down harder, and with Sam watching he's not sure he'll be able to make himself let go at all. Steve will have to make him lose control and then he'll be wrecked and struggling and losing it all in his diaper, overflowing with piss and sensations and feelings as Sam watches. Even if the diaper holds, Sam will still be able to see it happen as the padding swells and grows sodden. He's naked but for that meager padding, and his shame will be glaringly displayed. His cheeks heat at the thought.

"Aw, look at him," Sam's voice comes teasingly, "He's blushing so hard. It's all right, Bucky." Then there's a third hand, squeezing his bare thigh and running up his leg to pat the front of his diaper, "You've got this, and you've got us." Bucky manages to take in a shaking breath. "He's real cute when he's embarrassed, though." 

"He  _is_ cute, isn't he?" Steve kisses his face, which is now burning with a renewed passion. He's not sure if he should be more embarrassed that they're talking like this, or that he loves it. He wants to be good, and perfect, and  _cute._ He gulps the next glass of water held to his lips, hoping to cool the heat in his face. The first hint of need twinges in his abdomen and he wriggles on Steve's lap. His breathing picks up.

"Okay. Okay. We're here for you, Bucky," Steve whispers, rubbing at his full stomach, "We're gonna take such good care of you. You can trust us."

Then Sam's kneeling in front of him, squeezing his knee. "That's right," he says, "We've got you, Buck."

It doesn't take long before he's rocking on Steve's lap, squeezing his thighs together and grabbing at the front of his diaper. The motion is making Steve hard against his ass, but he can't focus on that right now. It's one thing to tell himself he can trust them with his shame and let them lift the weight of it off of him. He wants to give himself to them, wants to be stroked and patted and comforted, and the ache in his belly increases with each passing minute, but he can't let go, he just can't. Humiliation and shame flare up in his face as he rocks and clutches himself. He's all too aware that there's another person  _there._

"Steve..." he whispers, clenched tightly against the urges pulsing through him.

"It's just us, Bucky. It's okay," Steve whispers back, giving him a little squeeze.

"That's right. It's okay, man. We're gonna take good care of you, remember? We're right here." Sam's leaning heavily against his legs, and the weight is a comfort but Bucky blushes anew at the idea of leaking through the diaper and soaking Sam's shirt. His bladder spasms at the mental image, and he wriggles and groans.

"You can let go whenever you want." Steve reaches up a hand to stroke through Bucky's hair. A new surge of  _need_ shoots through him and he can't help panicking, he has to  _go,_ he has to go so, so bad and he can't control it and he'll make a mess and they'll see and, and—

He's rocking and writhing and whimpering rhythmically. "Can't—can't—need—"

"Shhh," Steve soothes, hugging Bucky tight and letting him grind into his lap, "it's all right, Buck. Let go."

He wants to obey. He  _needs_ to obey, but Sam's sitting there  _watching_ and his body clenches up every time he tries to release, stomach tightening, shame prickling in his eyes. "Can't," he sobs out in utter humiliation, "Steve, help, need help, please it hurts please—"

"Okay," Steve says, so calmly and softly against his hair even as Bucky jolts and writhes and whimpers, "Okay, I've got you. I'll always take care of you, Bucky. _S-sam_ ," the last word comes out as a hiss as Bucky squeezes his thighs around Steve's knee, "You seem to be enjoying his legs a whole lot, you think you can hold onto them for me?"

"How do you want 'em?" Sam asks.

"Hold them apart," Steve instructs him calmly, and Bucky almost begs,  _please, no,_ he'll come completely undone and they'll _see_ , he'll be so exposed spread-eagled like that, except Sam's between his knees now, arms wrapping around his calves, the touch insistent but still so gentle and soft and accepting. 

Sam parts Bucky's thighs to make room for himself, and Bucky cries out as the first trickle of heat seeps into his diaper. He almost manages to hold it back, but then Sam slithers up between his thighs and slides up to _suck_  at Bucky's nipple, wiggling his tongue teasingly. Bucky  _yelps_ and jerks and he's lots all control and the heat is flooding his diaper. Steve's hand is at his groin and his legs are held firmly apart and he's crying in earnest but Steve's squeezing at the wet warmth in his crotch and whispering that he's good he's doing so good he's being so brave, and Sam's hugging his legs, kissing gently at the inside of his knee. He's sobbing and they've got him and the relief is coursing through his body like the warmth trickling down his bare thighs and into Steve's jeans. There's a different kind of relief, too, the feeling of them still holding him and loving him and whispering into him.

It goes on and on and he keeps getting scared, just knowing he'll make a huge mess and it'll be everywhere, but Steve rubs his stomach every time he tenses, shushing him and telling him to keep letting go and the release is so powerful and dizzying that he doesn't _want_ to stop.

When the rush slows to a trickle and the embarrassment is mounting, Steve pulls Bucky's head back against his shoulder and kisses his ear. "Good job, honey, you did so good, now we're gonna take care of you." And then his hand is sliding under the waistband of Bucky's diaper and Bucky flushes so deeply at the thought of Sam watching this, Sam  _knowing_ what he does with Steve and how bad he _wants_ it. The shame just makes him hard that much faster, to his burning embarrassment, and Steve chuckles softly against his ear, reading Bucky like a book.

"Someone's blushing _red,"_ Sam notes, languidly and with warm affection in his voice.

"Isn't he cute?" Steve's kissing Bucky's cheek, his shoulder.

" _So_  cute." Sam runs his hand up Bucky's thigh, not seeming to mind that it's still slick with piss.

And then Steve's got a hold of his cock and he's stroking, and they're both whispering soothingly against Bucky's skin, and Steve's doing that twisting thing with his wrist that makes Bucky writhe upward, arching his back, wrecked and soaked and flushed.

" _God_ , he's beautiful like that," Sam breathes, and Bucky had never thought of this as beautiful before, not except in the way that it fills a need in him so deep he doesn't know how he ever survived before he had it. He spasms, and Sam's hands are on his legs and Steve's rubbing at him in earnest and he shakes and cries out and comes in the diaper, just another sticky addition to his mess. Steve strokes him gently through his orgasm, drawing it out and mumbling how much he loves him, and then there's just Bucky, limp and warm, sprawled out over Steve with Steve's hand in his diaper and their lips pressed together in a hungry, gasping kind of need.

Then Sam's there too, pulling Bucky part of the way into his lap and kissing him too, not with the same intensity as Steve but with a warm, firm steadiness like a promise and Bucky's weeping, then, overwhelmed and shaking and held safe by the two men who love him when he's at his most wrecked and vulnerable, and they're asking if he's all right and he gasps for them to just  _hold_ him. They do, Sam's lips locked with his, Steve's pressed against his hair. He gasps and cries and they stroke him, _love_ him. Tell him he's all right.

Eventually he takes a shuddering breath and rests his forehead against Sam's shoulder, and Steve's arm slowly snakes around Bucky to grope at the front of Sam's pants. Sam's hand slides over toward Steve, Bucky securely held between them. "Dude," Sam says, patting at Steve's crotch, "already?"

Bucky's not looking, but he can already tell Steve's blushing, and he smirks against Sam's shirt.

"You didn't have _this_ grinding up against your dick," Steve mumbles, patting Bucky's ass through the padding. Bucky feels a few extra trickles seep down the back of his thigh, and he squirms, embarrassed. "Sorry, Buck. I'm just teasing you. You have a great ass, though, you know that?"

Bucky groans and hides his face, which makes them laugh and kiss him. His heart flutters lightly and he thinks he's be content to stay here forever.

Steve strokes off Sam in short, light flicks of his wrist, and Bucky's too far gone to contribute much to the scene, but he does manage to work his hands up under Sam's shirt and lightly pinch at his nipples, payback for earlier. He's rewarded with a sudden, satisfying gasp. He spends the remaining time cuddled between them while they go out it, surrounded by Sam's rasping breath and Steve's steady, even motions. 

Then Sam's breathing out a groan and shuddering against Bucky, and Bucky can feel come dripping onto his thigh. Steve keeps up the stroking until Sam's through it, then all three of them slump bonelessly against each other, clinging together in satisfied exhaustion.

"Man," Sam says eventually, "We are a _mess_."

Bucky makes a noise of complaint, because he knows Steve will take that as the cue to get up, and he just wants the two of them to hold him like this forever. But they help him up and support him between them, and they're leading him toward the bathroom. And maybe there'll be a shower, or Steve will show Sam how to clean Bucky up and help him into a fresh pair of pants. He's got them, and they have him, and he's content to let them lead him forever and be good and loved and safe, and just for this moment, they are his whole world.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy very belated birthday, OMOWatcher! Since your intended birthday fic is _still_ in the shop, I figured you deserved a nice No-Shame November piece instead. Hope you like it!
> 
> Also. Comments are fuel! If you enjoyed this, please feed a hungry author for more of such content. Or just because said author is but a small, tired trashcreature who needs attention to stay motivated.


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